The Wisecouncil of the Ring
by ThruxHearts
Summary: What if Frodo was a dead boy?
1. The Big Whoops

The Wisecouncil of the Ring

by Yeshua

Chapter One: The Big Whoops

The Ring Wraiths fled into the night as they were accosted, set aflame one by one by Aragorn son of Arathorn, greatest of all rangers, called Estel; Longshanks; Wingfoot (by like, one person); Strider; Thorongil; heir to Isildur and to the throne of Gondor, and resident coolguy.

But much damage had already been done.

Aragorn rushed to the side of the screaming Frodo, and was shocked as he realized this was no ordinary injury that robbed the light from the young, though canonically 50, hobbit's eyes. But it was hard to be certain in the flickering light of his torch, and there was no time.

'Perhaps we ought to be getting out of here?' offered Samwise Gamgee in his infinite wisdom. Aragorn would have liked to punch him infinitely in his wisdom...teeth. Something or other.

Without a word, Aragorn hoisted Frodo over his shoulder and swiftly made his way to the tower's stairs, trusting the other hobbits would follow. And follow they did, for where else could they turn now?

'The flame summon the wraiths, and the flame banish them,' Pippin whispered behind him with a calm gleefulness. 'The flame. Yes, the flame.'

'Do not delight in the mysteries of Mordor, young master,' Aragorn cautioned without looking back, hiding how much this disturbed him.

'I despise their metal slippers most of all,' responded the hobbit quickly, although he had not said anything else that he despised about the Ring Wraiths.

Sam and Meriadoc were too preoccupied with the trauma of what had just transpired to notice the unsettling words from their friend. Still, they pressed on, more confident than ever in Strider's worldliness, emboldened by his courage. Frodo was the Ringbearer- the only one they had, and without him all would be lost. Such a time of testing as this would have once sent the hobbits fleeing- but now they strode unhesitatingly forward, toward fiercer and stranger trials.

The sun rose shortly after they put Weathertop behind them, Strider leading them into a forest as his paranoia crept like shadows in mind. At last when he decided they were safe from the wraiths- even if only for a few moments- he motioned for the party to stop. The party always stops when Aragorn tells it to.

He pulled Frodo down in one quick, careful motion. He went to open Frodo's shirt because he forgot they had already removed it hours ago, in order to gaze upon Frodo's well-sculpted torso against his will, although Samwise had protested this, grumbling about it being disrespectful to Master Baggins. Everyone had ignored him, though, because Sam was unimportant.

Now, in the daylight and less distracted by Frodo's unnaturally excellent physique for a 50 year-old hobbit, the mystery of his injury resolved into an unfortunate clarity.

'This is no ordinary injury. It was made by a Morgul blade. Few now have the skill in healing to match such evil weapons. But I am very skilled at basically everything so it's no biggie.'

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. They were really hoping it wouldn't be a biggie.

The ranger scanned the flora in the immediate vicinity for a couple of tense minutes while everyone else just watched a little awkwardly. Even Frodo, who was about 85% unconscious and experiencing bizarre fever hallucinations, was really hoping Aragorn would hurry it along. Aragorn at last bent down, cut something with his dagger, and held it up to everyone's least favorite hobbit.

'Sam, can you help me gather this plant?' Aragorn asked Sam to make him feel less unimportant, although anyone would agree this was a monumental task. 'Athelas, also called-'

'Kingsfoil. Yes, I know. Now's not the time to show off, Strider.'

'Fair enough,' Aragorn said shortly. 'Let's make haste.'

But Samwise was already busying himself at the task with a grave focus.

Aragorn sat still for thirty seconds while he glared at Sam and fantasized about killing him. Suddenly, there was a sword at his throat.

'Hey it's me, Arwen.'

Aragorn spun and slashed behind him, slicing Arwen's hand badly.

'Ow!'

'Sorry, I thought you said 'Sauron.''

Arwen gave him a look that said 'I have loved you for a great deal of time and have long considered the complex choice of sacrificing my immortality to spend a fulfilling mortal life by your side, despite the fact that not only my father but likely my entire people would ostracize me for such a decision, yet still I hold greater value in you and my relationship with you, but after pulling that stunt right there, mister, yeah that's not looking very tempting.'

What Arwen actually said was, 'What's happened?'

Aragorn simply gestured toward Frodo, for he knew after a moment's glance at the hobbit, she would know. But apparently Arwen was off her game, for instead she just shrugged and said 'Huhhh?'

'Oh. Well-'

'Wait! I got it.' Then she knelt by Frodo and whispered, 'A wound from a Morgul blade.' She touched the wound as she examined it, thinking.

'What are you doing?!' Shouted Aragorn. 'You hand is covered in blood! From when I cut you just now!'

Arwen immediately withdrew her hand and yelped. 'Haha, whoops. Hopefully that doesn't cause any problems down the road.

Anyway, I'm really good at riding horses. Let me take Frodo to Rivendell.'

'...I am also good at riding horses,' Aragorn said, his eye twitching.

By now the others had returned and were watching the exchange.

'But I really am faster,' Arwen was saying. 'And anyway, you ride like a girl.'

Aragorn recoiled from this sick burn as Merry chimed in: 'That, my friend, is a pint.'

'I wish Glorfindel was here,' mumbled the ranger, but no one knew who he was talking about, and even if they did, they wouldn't have cared because Arwen had just asserted her dominance.

After Arwen had mounted her horse and gotten Frodo secure in the saddle with Aragorn and Sam's help, Merry took off the sunglasses he had been wearing all morning and handed them to the elf. 'You might need these later,' he said seriously.

Glorfinwen nodded. Flicking the reigns, she shouted, 'Noro Lim, Fashtalot! Noro Lim'

'You take care of Mr. Frodo, now!' Sam shouted, but she was already gone.

Arwen could feel the presence of the dark riders more and more as they rode, though she could not see them yet. Frodo gasped a wretched gasp, really grossing Arwen out.

'Do not give into the darkness, Frodo! Their robes are tattered, their hair is thin and grey, and their slippers are metal. No one wants metal slippers!'

But Frodo was feeling more and more as if he did want metal slippers. Convenient or functional? No. But totally rad? Absolutely.

Meanwhile:

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

Aragorn spun and slashed behind him, narrowly missing Pippin as the hobbit jumped backwards.

Clunk-clunk went the hobbit's feet as he landed.

'My apologies, it's a habit I really need to- Oh my god what are you wearing?'

'They're, uh,' clunk, 'just some slip-'

'How did you even get those? You know what, I don't want to know.'

'Took 'em from the guy who stabbed Frodo,' Pippin said, smiling.

'The Witch King? You've gotta be kidding me...Take those off right now,' Aragorn reached for the hobbit's feet, sensing his impending resistance.

'I'm taking them off, I'm taking them off!' Pippin started to gingerly place the horrible slippers in his sack, but Aragorn ripped them out of his hands and cast them deep into the forest.

'You really are the dumb one, Pip,' chided Meriadoc, clapping his friend on the back and brushing past him.

'They come in pints?' Pippin asked no one, depressed.

Meanwhile:

Arwen frowned as the Ring Wraiths were swept downriver by her powerful pony spell. For though they were now free from their pursuers, another, equally dangerous threat loomed before them.

Quickly dismounting, she went to remove Frodo's shirt, having forgotten she had already taken it off as soon as she was out of sight of Aragorn and company to gaze upon Frodo's surprisingly well-sculpted torso against his will. He truly was a well- built 50-year-old hobbit.

Her fears were soon confirmed as she regained focus, examining Frodo's wound. 'Wow that's really infected.'

Glorfindel became distracted while she considered the confusing lore surrounding the reincarnation of elves and how much of a thing that even really was?

Frodo groaned, clearly trying to find the strength to say something.

'What is it, Frodo?' Arwen asked, concerned, as she drew her blade.

'I said I hate you.'

'Yeah, sorry you fell off Fashtalot like three times.'

'Four.'

'Yeah, fair. My b.' And she sliced the hobbit in half.


	2. The Council of Wise

Laura Andrews asks: "This was an odd story, but it had me chuckling at several places. Will there be more?"

This is a story about Frodo being a dead boy. Frodo has only just begun being a dead boy. There will be more.

Chapter Two: The Council of Wise

'It is ten o'clock in the morning on October the 24th, if you want to know.'

'For the last time, Gandalf, we elves don't use Gregorian.'

Gandalf slowly, dejectedly left the room, whimpering as he did.

Elrond sighed. 'Old weirdo.'

Since Arwen had returned with Frodo's body, they had done nothing but sit around for four days. But today he had come up with the brilliant plan to hold a meeting to talk about stuff and maybe make a decision or something. A meeting that would not arbitrarily exclude the three living hobbits whom had traveled with Frodo and might have noticed the effects the ring had had on him. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.

'We must put our hope in Men,' said Gandalf, poking his head back in.

'Men? It is because of men we are here now. Specifically Isildur, who, sure, also killed Sauron's body in the first place, but also the nine kings who took the rings of power unquestioningly, yeah, those guys were the worst. Men are weak. I don't like dwarves either. Hobbits are okay, one of my best friends is a hobbit. Well, not really, but I could see myself being friends with a hobbit.'

Gandalf stared blankly at Elrond. He really didn't have time for this both explicit and casual racism. It was almost as if the elf lord had some sort of vendetta.

'Am I wrong?' asked Elrond.

'Well, you've already said the elves won't help, so I'm not really sure what you want from me, here. Also, yes, you're wrong. Obviously.'

'What I want is someone that I both silently and vocally judge to solve my problems for me. But the nations of Men are scattered.'

'There is one who could unite them.'

'Are we going to cut to Aragorn? Because I feel like we're going to cut to

Aragorn halted as he stepped into Elrond's chamber (not the room Elrond and Gandalf were in- some other chamber- in the screenplay it is just called Elrond's chamber). Even in the dim light he could easily make out (and would, later in the scene, with Arwen), standing at the pedestal where a shattered sword lay...Faramir? No, that wasn't it. This was...Poromir? Tomorrowmir? Boromir? Surely not. Draweromir? That was definitely it. Draweromir. Wait, no, that was ridiculous. Aragorn was a straightforward man, and he didn't have time for these shenanigans. Faramir it was.

'The shards of Narsil. The blade that cut the Ring from Sauron's hand.' Faramir reached for the sword and cut his finger off by accident. 'Still sharp. Well, finders keepers.'

'Stop!'

Faramir spun on his heels, looking like a deer in torchlight. Like a deer in a pair of two very bright torchlights, moving at a speed of 40-60 miles per hour.

'Leave that blade where it lies, son of Denethor.'

Faramir's hand was spewing like a fountain. Like a blood fountain. He pointed its flow at Aragorn in defiance.

The ranger spit twice, but did not wipe the blood from his face. 'At least don't get that all over the blade. You'll never get the smell of iron out.'

'Wait, wuuuuuuut...?'

While Boromir was distracted by Aragorn's surreal humor, the ranger snatched the blade away and held it up triumphantly. 'I outsmarted you because I am good at things,' said Aragorn.

As he said this, Arwen entered. 'Hey it's me, Ar- oh my gosh you're killing each other. Uh, 'whoops', am I right? Happens all the time. Sometimes, people just kill other people, and it's fine...right guys? Not that I've ever killed...like, Frodo, for instance.'

The blood from Faramir's finger immediately stopped, and the two men glared at Arwen for thirty-seven minutes. Then, Boroforo left.

'Why do you fear the past? You are Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself,' Arwen said in Elvish. 'You are not bound to his fate.'

'The same blood flows through my veins,' Aragorn said in Elvish.

'Your time will come,' Arwen said in Elvish. 'You will face the same evil...and defeat it.' She also said this in Elvish.

Arwen and Aragorn could both sense the impending flashback scene, but kept it at bay by sheer force of will. Finding themselves victorious, they celebrated by making out, in Elvish. Arwen reveled in the feast of blood and stepped back slightly, smiling, as she was reminded of Frodo.

'What is it?' Aragorn asked in Normaltalk.

'I'm just really glad this scene wasn't with Glorfindel,' replied Arwen in Normaltalk.

The pair laughed in Elvish.

~Transitional Wide Landscape Shot~

'Friends and strangers from distant lands, you have traveled far to be with us today, through forest and over mountain. Although, it is not really clear whether I sent for you or if you sort of just had a dream and showed up.' Elrond's voice was gentle but powerful as he addressed the score or so present at the secret meeting. Secret from who, no one was really sure, for even Meriadoc and Periwinkle had been invited, and those guys were nobodies.

'We are gathered here today not for the marriage of my daughter Arwen to Aragorn. No; that will never happen.'

Aragorn frowned. Arwen smiled when she heard her name.

'No, we are gathered here because the Ring of Saruman- er, I mean, Sauron, has made its way here, to Rivendell, and the slippers of Mordor march to claim it. We mighty races share this one fate, this one doom, in common, and not much else.

Frodo, bring forth the ring.'

Two elves who were sitting on either side of Frodo's fully-clothed body got up and lifted Frodo's torso by the armpits, careful not to touch the ring that still hung from his neck. Luckily, the elves of Rivendell had worked some very powerful magic to keep from absolutely reeking the place up. His hair had all fallen out, and his skin was as white as snow, but other than that, he hadn't decomposed in the slightest. Sam was sobbing.

'Poor wording,' muttered Merry.

The pair of elves reached the stone plinth (which is a fancy word for pedestal) in the center of the encircled onlookers and nodded toward each other. Tilting Frodo's body at a forty-five degree angle downward, they began shaking it vigorously, attempting to loose the ring from its place around Frodo's neck. This went on for a while before they gave up, looking at each other silently. Finally, the one on the left carefully grabbed the chain, slowly moving it over Frodo's head. He was being so careful with his hands that he fell off balance, catching himself, but causing the ring to swing a little on its chain. The ring gingerly brushed his forearm.

The elf's eyes lit up, glowing a golden-green, and his stature changed, appearing to grow a little taller. He sprouted a third arm from his stomach, and eighty tiny eyes all on his right cheek, letting forth a terrible scream like a rabid raccoon.

'Grey Blast, level three,' came a confident, stern voice, as a burst of energy struck the elf to the ground. All turned to Gandalf, who lowered his still-smoking staff.

The other elf quickly draped Frodo's torso over the plinth, facedown, the ring still hanging from his neck, and hurriedly backed away.

'So it is true,' whispered Boromir.

'The Ring of Power- Sauron's ring!' Cried Orlando Bloom.

'For goodness' sake,' said Sam. 'Isn't anyone going to explain what happened to Mr. Frodo?'

There were murmurs of agreement from Aragorn, Merry, Gandalf, and even Boromir, although many of the elves seemed bored by this question.

'He was just a hobbit,' someone said, and Sam immediately looked around to challenge whoever had spoken.

The theme music began playing, and everyone in the Fellowship looked about their companions with great joy displaying on their countenances. Everyone, that was, except Sam.

Elrond at last nodded toward Arwen, who rose.

'Hey, everyone. So basically the Ring Wraiths caught up to me and Frodo as we were riding to Rivendell and they tried to slice me, and I ducked, but Frodo was unconscious so he couldn't duck, and yeah. Okay, thank you.'

Arwen sat down and there was a general mumble from everyone as they considered the explanation.

After a moment of deliberation, Elrond spoke: 'Well, that's good enough for me. Moving back to the matter of the ring...'

'This is a gift,' interrupted Boromir. 'Why not use it?'

'You cannot wield it,' spoke Aragorn. 'The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.'

'I respectfully disagree,' said Boromir.

'He's right,' said Gandalf. 'The ring must be destroyed.'

'Well what are we waiting for?!' a dwarf shouted zealously. He got up, wielding an ax, and took a swipe at the Ring. He missed and hit Frodo instead. Gimli struggled to remove his ax, but it was stuck in Frodo's forehead. Eventually he just returned to his seat.

'This is unacceptable!' shouted Sam.

'The Ring cannot so easily be destroyed,' continued Elrond. 'It was forged in the fires of Mount Doom, and only there can it be unmade.'

'A person can't just walk into bad lands,' pointed out Faramir.

'Good point,' said Aragorn.

'Thank you,' returned Boromir, 'but I don't know who you are so your opinion doesn't matter.'

'Don't you know to whom you speak?' asked some random elf.

'Uh, no, that's what I just-'

'This is Aragorn son of Arathorn, greatest of all rangers, heir to Isildur and to the throne of Gondor, and he is a cool guy. You owe him your allegiance.'

'Shut up, Legolas, I can handle myself,' said Aragorn in Elvish, forgetting that basically everyone there spoke Elvish.

'And I suppose you're going to be the one to take it?' Boromir asked Legolas.

'I don't like elves,' stated Gimli.

'I don't like anyone,' said Elrond.

Then, everyone began yelling at each other all at once because they hadn't solved their problems after a whole ten minutes of discussion.

Sam felt the world swirling around him, the voices blurring into one jumbled mess. This wasn't how things were supposed to go at all. They were just supposed to come to Rivendell, see the elves, and go home. But now his best friend in the whole world was dead, and he didn't care about the elves anymore. Even the idea of 'home' felt empty to him. Seeing the greatest fighters and leaders of the nations of the world argue like this just made everything feel all the more hopeless.

'I will take it!' shouted Sam. There was silence. 'I will take the Ring. Though, I could use some friends.'

'You will not be alone,' said Gandalf. 'I will see you through this.'

'You have my bow,' said Legolas.

'And you have my axe, as soon as I can get a new one,' said Gimli.

Better get in on this to save face, thought Aragorn. 'And my sword.'

'We're coming too, Samwise Gamgee, friend of Frodo and new bearer of the Ring,' said Merry and Pippin in chilling unison.

'Can I come, too? I feel guilty. This is Arwen, by the way.'

'Nine companions,' said Elrond.

Sam approached Frodo's body sadly, and after a moment of looking at his dead friend, gently took the ring and placed it around his own neck.

Suddenly, Frodo's pale, bald, and unfortunately covered upper half lifted up, and his mouth opened to address the crowd, though his eyes remained closed. 'A curse!' shouted the ghost of Frodo Baggins. 'A curse upon all I now name! Upon Aragorn son of Arathorn; upon Gandalf the Grey; upon Gimli the dwarf; upon Meriadoc Brandybuck; and especially upon Arwen, daughter of Elrond! These five I curse, and I shall appear to them in five hauntings! I give up my body now; to the air my spirit goes; as a wraith shall I return!'

Frodo's body fell back onto the plinth, and then slid off onto the ground, next to the dead elf who still lay there. No one was brave enough to speak a word about this apparition. So instead, Elrond just moved on:

'You shall be called...The Fellowship of the Ring.'

The theme music welled up as everyone in the group smiled, quickly forgetting the surely unimportant pronouncement the ghost of Frodo had just made. But Sam wasn't smiling.

'Stop the music!'

There was a sudden record scratch.

'We shall not be called The Fellowship of the Ring!' Sam shouted, with a tone that suggested this were the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

'Then what shall you be called?' Elrond demanded. He could at least respect the hobbit for caring about names.

Sam was rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over the Ring of Power. 'We shall be called...The Wisecouncil of the Ring!'

Silence.

'Because my name is Samwise!'

The theme music immediately continued where it had left off, a little louder this time. Sam and Pippin smiled big smiles.


	3. The Plot Goes South

Chapter Three: The Plot Goes South

"You know, Boromir," Merry was saying, "you were right. The scenery in this country _is_ much more beautiful than New Zealand."

"Told you."

"Speaking of things one has 'told,'" interjected Gandalf, "or rather, things one has 'not told'…Ahem. I forgot to mention that Saruman has betrayed us."

"What?" asked Sam. "Sauron has betrayed us? I thought he was evil all along!"

"No, Samwise, I speak of Saruman the Whi-"

"We know Sauron is evil, Gandalf," said Aragon. "Old weirdo."

'It's a forty-days' journey to the Gap of Rohan. But my wizardly intuition tells me we're going to end up taking the Pass of Cardhras instead,' said Gandalf.

'The road through the mountains?' asked Pippin. 'That should be a nice view.'

Gimli and Orlando Bloom eyed each other, bonding over how non-local the hobbit was. 'It is no ordinary path,' spoke Orlando. 'The strange workings of a Magic Man turned the ground of the mountains to an endless ocean of houses upon houses of playing cards.'

'Houses of cards? What kind of madman would do that?' asked Merry.

'I cannot recall his name. Tom something or other, I think.'

'Yorke?' suggested Aragorn.

'No, that's not it. Spelled with an 'h.''

'Yates?' asked Arwen.

'Definitely not.'

'Is the way safe?' Interrupted Sam, concern bleeding easily through his voice.

'It's an easy enough road for an elf,' said Legolas, grinning.

'I lost my steed to the cards on my way to Rivendell,' said Boromir grimly. 'Watched her sinking deeper and deeper, and all I could think to myself was, 'Back home I've got horses...in spades.' Boromir turned away, clearly trying to hide his tears.

'I will keep the mountain steady,' said Gandalf. 'It's Sauron-er, I mean, Saruman I would worry about. Really should have seen that betrayal coming...'

Clang! Clang! Was a deadly fight taking place just off-screen? Haha, no, it was only Boroforo and Periberi practicing their sweet swordplays.

"I _do_ bite my tongue at you, sir!" exclaimed Boromir, knocking Pippin's blade out of his hand and accidentally cutting his finger.

Pippin stood absolutely still and said quietly, "I'm going to murder you in your sleep."

"Pippin!" shouted Merry, dismayed. "That's not the next line."

"What is _tha_ t?" asked Arwen, pulling down her shades gifted from Merry and looking toward the southern sky. But everyone had forgotten Arwen was even there, so they just kind of looked at her for a minute.

"Just a shadow in the clouds, somehow," said Gimli, brushing it off. "Yeah, that makes sense. Also Moria is completely safe, just sayin'."

Legolas squinted and exclaimed: "Crebainfromdunland!"

"Er…what was that?" asked Merry.

"Crebainfromdunland!"

"Us hobbits don't speak Elvish."

"Spies of Saruman! Hide!"

"Well," said Aragorn, "If we can see them, they can definitely see us. I'm a ranger or whatever so I should definitely know that."

"We might as well make silly faces," pointed out Peregrin.

"Don't think it works like that, Pip," said Merry.

The crebainfromdunland rushed toward them like a murderofcrows, which, if we're being honest, is exactly what they were. But since the Wisecouncil wasn't even trying to hide, the crebainfromdunland felt much less sinister and sort of embarrassed as they wheeled over the adventurers a couple of times. They considered for a moment if there was any way to be less obvious, but unfortunately you can't turn the flash off on Polaroids, so they just buckled up and took the pictures. Then, just like that, they took off, and were gone.

"Saruman truly has gone the way of Mordor," said Legolas. "There's not been cameras in these parts for a thousand years."

"The passage south is being watched," spoke Gandalf. "We must take the Pass of Cardhras."

~~~

Up, up, the mountains they went, and as the air began to grow thin and cold, the ground became covered in more and more…playing cards. The cards were already more than knee-deep to the hobbits and Gimli, and halfway up everyone else's shins. While the company trudged through, Legolas hopped nimbly from the top of cards that were stacked up in houses, unnaturally sturdy in the wind, though not immune to falling over, as Pippin discovered when he attempted to mimic the elf's movements. The hobbit tumbled right into Sam, taking his friend down with him.

"Watch it, Pip!" shouted Samwise, getting up and rubbing his aching head. "One more slip-up like that and I'll force you to start carrying my things."

"Including the Ring?" Pippin's eyes lit up.

"No, not my pre…stigious piece of jewelry."

"Okay, that's fair."

They had not gone another thirty feet when Farabor called out from behind them, "Hey, you left the Ring on the ground back here! Come back and get it!"

Sam rushed back over and picked the Ring up from where it lay amongst the cards, Borofar pointing it out. "Thanks."

"No problem at all, young master. I'm really glad we took the time to establish those ground rules about only you touching the Ring."

"Yes…as am I."

Aragorn had just noticed what was happening and stepped up to Faramir and Sam, drawing his blade. "What's the point of that chain if you can't keep the Ring around your neck, for goodness' sake?" Then, seeing the look of terror on Sam's face, Aragorn burst into laughter.

"You should let Pip tell the jokes," said Sam angrily, turning red. "If you don't watch who you troll, you're going to get trolled right back." But Aragorn wasn't listening, still laughing at his own prank.

As they continued on, cards began at first to gently float down from the air, and the sight was truly something to behold. But quickly the dusting turned into a full cardstorm, cutting at their skin, getting in their eyes, and sticking to their hair. Sam tried to distract himself by thinking of a way to get Aragorn back, but the fact simply was that Sam didn't have a single funny bone in his body. And he just felt sort of lame.

The Wisecouncil reached a precipitous pass, only three or four feet wide, and the cardstorm had become so violent that they could only inch forward as polymeric plastic whipped at their faces. Still, Orlando Bloom felt the need to be constantly backflipping over everyone else. Eventually, he began interjecting words at the height of his jumps:

"There," flip, "is," flip, "a," flip, "foul," flip, "voice," flip, "on" flip, "the," flip, "air," flip.

"IT'S SARUMAN!" screamed Gandalf.

"Shut up, you idiot," demanded Boromir. "You'll cause an avalanche."

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!"

"Well shouting isn't going to help. Let us make for the Gap of Ro-"

"No!" said everyone.

"If we cannot go over the mountain," said Gimli, shivering, "let us go under it. My cousin Balin whom I haven't seen in three hundred years is surely still alive and will give us a…Fine Mining Experience. Haha."

"I can't believe I'm saying this…" said Gandalf, turning to the adorable idiot whom Fate had handed responsibility. "But, let the Ringbearer decide."

"Oh, we're definitely going through the mines. I hate card games."

"So be it."

After a long, arduous journey down the mountains that no one wants to read about or watch, even the extended edition, the Wisecouncil arrived at the bottom of the walls of Moria, and Gandalf felt at the stone as he walked, pretending that he knew exactly where he was going. Night had fallen hours ago, and the sky was black.

Suddenly, the cloud-cover parted, and runes lit up in the moonlight just behind Gandalf.

"Well, I suppose we could go this way, too."

"Elvish runes," said Merry, as if he had never seen a book before.

Gandalf cleared his throat. "It reads: 'The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

"What do you suppose it means?" asked Merry.

"It means 'The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.' Didn't you hear me the first time?"

"No, sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"Hmmm. Elrond told me the password but I can't remember. Give me a second, I'll remember it…"

While they waited, the hobbits released their ponies off into the wild, most likely to be killed by hungry wolves. "I'm sorry, Sam," said Aragorn, "But the dwarves despise ponies and will eat Bill to sate their ravenous hunger."

"What about Gimli?"

"He's barely been holding himself back."

Sam, horrified, risked a glance at Gimli, who was snacking on some jerky.

Gandalf continued to try many Elvish passwords, such as '1234,' '4321,' 'password,' 'Password,' and even 'Password1,' but nothing seemed to be working. Eventually, Sam perked up.

"'Speak, friend, and enter.' It's a riddle."

"No, Samwise, I have already tried 'teeth,' 'water,' 'time,' 'wind,' 'the Ring of Power,' and 'the knife was made of ice.'"

"Oh. Nevermind then."

Pippin and Merry were fighting off boredom by throwing playing cards they had taken from the mountains into the water, seeing who could get further. As Pippin was about to take his turn, Aragorn caught his arm.

"Do not disturb the water," Aragorn warned. "Besides, that's a first-edition Charizard."

"Water?" Pippin's head slowly began to tilt sideways. "Do you mean…'Slipper-Rusting Bog?'"

Aragorn looked down at Pippin's feet, and sure enough, there were the Slippers of Mordor, metal. "For the love of Eru…" Furious, Aragorn son of Arathorn stepped on the hobbit's feet and pushed him to the ground. Pippin was writhing like some horrible worm and raving like a lunatic, all of which was completely normal for the hobbit. The slippers were unnaturally tight around his feet, but Aragorn managed to get them off at last, and in his rage launched them into the Slipper-Rusting Bog. "Uh…"

Everyone turned to him, and Aragorn stared at the water, mortified.

"Whoops," said Arwen, making herself useful. "Plopped right in like a watermelon."

Suddenly, the stone door shone brighter and began to open.

"Good work, Arwen," said Gandalf. "Finally did something."

"Um…"

"The password was obviously watermelon. Let's go!"

Skeptical, Boromir followed Gandalf in, and the others were soon behind. As dark as it was outside, it was even darker in the stone room that must have been some sort of foyer. Gandalf was searching about with his staff, and once everyone was inside, the state of the Mines of Moria soon became apparent.

"It's rather dusty in here," said Orlando Bloom, his elvish sensibilities clearly offended. "Also, all these dwarves are dead."

"We should not have come here," said Bro-omir hastily. But a noise behind him cut off his next thought, and as the company turned around to investigate, sometheing swept Merry off his feet and quickly pulled him toward the water. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli rushed outside ahead of everyone else to see a terrible, slimy form emerging from the water. Merry hung suspended in the air by his foot, held their by some awful tentacle. The huge head of the beast surfaced, and its face was most gruesome of all. For it was not the face of some animal, but the face of Frodo.

"A curse," a voice said, whispered, but loud and clear. "A curse upon Meriadoc Brandybuck!" Merry, upside down, feinted. "A curse for your far too cool shades, propelling you to heights of coolness beyond your rightful place!"

An arrow _swished_ through the air, striking the tentacle holding Merry aloft. The Frodo in the Water let out a terrible shriek as it dropped Merry onto the shore, where he banged his head and lay unconscious.

Legolas grinned.

Six or more tentacles reached for anyone who was near. A tentacle made its way to Sam, who panicked and dropped his weapon. He was lifted into the air, and then immediately fell back down as Aragorn's sword sliced the tentacle off. Legolas and Gimli kept the other tentacles at bay, and Gandalf shouted "Into the mines!" as they retreated. The hobbits made their way in— Boromir carrying Merry— and last were Aragorn and Legolas.

Still, the tentacles grasped at the ground and came closer. They latched onto the walls of the entrance, pulling the Frodo in the Water out of the water, classifying it technically as a Frodo on the Land, or just a Frodo. But as the head of the Frodo reached the entrance, the great stone doors came unhinged, loosed from the rocky walls, and collapsed on the Frodo. Silence followed.

The company stood there for a moment, saying nothing. Then, they moved on.


End file.
